


The Only Sentimental Thing I Could Think Of

by SunriseinSpace



Series: What in Me is Dark, Illumine [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemon, Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseinSpace/pseuds/SunriseinSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You don't have one, do you?  A daemon," Stiles asks, followed by, "Did Kate do it?", and Derek's not sure he's ever been more speechless in his life.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They rebuild the Hale House.  They try to rebuild each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Sentimental Thing I Could Think Of

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly Season 2 compatible, but definitely AU-ish.
> 
> \--
> 
> * STILES - [Noemi](http://www.birdwallpapers.com/wallpapers/hummingbird-finger-wallpaper.jpg) \- derivation of Naomi, "pleasantness" - Rufous Hummingbird (F)
> 
> * KATE ARGENT - [Kayin](http://www.mtcmediaproductions.com/images/animals/arcticwolf504.jpg) \- derivation of Cain, "acquired", first murderer in the Bible - Arctic Wolf (M)
> 
> * SCOTT - [Emer](http://www.birdforum.net/opus/images/b/b8/Eurasian_Pygmy-Owl.jpg) \- from the Gaelic for "swift", she tends to be a lot of the things Scott isn't (In Irish legend Emer was the wife of Cúchulainn. She was said to possess the six gifts of womanhood: beauty, voice, speech, needlework, wisdom and chastity.) - Eurasian Pygmy Owl (F)
> 
> * ERICA - [Saorise](http://bird.net.au/bird/images/7/74/BSK-2.jpg) \- pronounced "SEER-sha", "freedom" - Black Shouldered Kite (F)
> 
> * ISAAC - [Treasa](http://allthecreatures.org/wp-content/uploads/ermine.jpg) \- thought to mean "strength" in Irish Gaelic - Ermine (F)
> 
> * BOYD - [Philomena](http://www.felineconservation.org/uploads/mee1_icarus_jaguarundi.jpg) \- "strength" in Greek, she's shy and vaguely reclusive, but rather talkative when she feels safe - Jaguarundi (F)
> 
> * JACKSON - [Aveza](http://hamertonzoopark.com/files/images/products/thumb_w500/pictures-and-cards-corsac-fox-side.jpg) \- old Germanic, thought to mean "desired" - Corsac Fox (F)
> 
> * ALLISON - [Alcaeus](http://www.graywolfconservation.com/images/other%20canids_subspecies/golden%20jackal.jpg) \- pronounced "al-SEE-us", from the Greek for "strength" - Golden Jackal (M)
> 
> * LYDIA - [Perdita](http://natgeomuseumblog.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/ocelot_rare.jpg) \- from the Latin for "lost" - Ocelot (F)
> 
> * CHRIS ARGENT - [Laurette](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W90V87w3sr8/TM5qVVtvK6I/AAAAAAAAAGA/BUYJQ8tNIaY/s1600/red_wolf.jpg) \- French diminutive of "Laura" - Red Wolf (F)
> 
> * DOCTOR DEATON - [Sabina](http://www.birdzilla.com/images/stories/450images/golden-eagle-450.jpg) \- derivative of the name of an ancient people whose women were able to negotiate peace between their town and the Roman Army - Golden Eagle (F)
> 
> * MELISSA MCCALL - [Conor](http://www.awf.org/files/3904_file_hedgehog1.jpg) \- Anglicized form of the Gaelic word for "dog-" or "wolf-lover" - Hedgehog (M)
> 
> * DEREK - Brigh - from the Irish for "power" (F)  
> [headcanon - born wolves don't have daemons; their innate wolf takes a daemon's place. Brigh isn't necessarily the name of Derek's wolf, but it is the name his daemon would have if Derek were human.]

"You don't have one, do you? A daemon," Stiles asks, followed by, "Did Kate do it?", and Derek's not sure he's ever been more speechless in his life. Noemi flits around the kid's head, a bright splash of color against the dull tones of the winter forest.

Splinters lodge under his fingernails as he grips the rotting porch-rail, memories of Kate and Kayin, her vicious daemon (an arctic wolf, God _damn_ the irony) ripping through him and he's grateful all over again, that his wolf has only ever been a part of him, not something that could be taken (like everything else). His molars grind together and he feels the way his eyes flash red. Stiles doesn't back down, though Noemi dips and whirls and shoots to tuck herself into the hollow of his throat, feathers blending with the red of Stiles' hoodie. She tips her head back, long beak brushing soothingly under Stiles' Adam's Apple, and watching the action snaps something in Derek.

"No," he says, tired and final, turning to disappear into the depths of his house, the slow thud and the whirring hum of Stiles' and Noemi's heartbeats following him.

\--

"Dude, why's she _changing_ again?" Scott barks, crashing through the underbrush to land half-slumped on the steps of Hale House. Derek looks up from where he's sanding the front doorframe in time to see a whirl of wings light on the repaired banister, before the creature _actually_ blurs a little. She shifts too fast for Derek to catch details, but she settles in another bird form, fluffed out and tense in response to Scott's mood.

" _You're_ changing, Scott," he answers, tone flat and matter-of-fact as his eyes track the daemon pacing along the rail. "Your daemon is a reflection of who you are and you aren't the same person you were when she settled." He blinks and turns to look at Scott, who's gone pale as he stares at his daemon.

"Emer," Scott whispers hollowly and she launches at him, a flurry of wings, and something tells Derek what shape she'll resettle in.

"What was she before?" he asks because, honestly, he'd not paid that much attention. (He brushes off the thought that he knows the exact shade of sunset orange that spreads itself across Noemi's throat, the way she fits perfectly in the notch between Stiles' collarbones.)

"Cat-like," Scott mutters, fingers stroking through the wings of Emer's bird-of-prey shape. He shakes his head. "Never quite could figure out what exactly." He raises his head and looks straight at Derek. "How'm I gonna hide this?" he asks, voice raw as his hands close tight around Emer.

A bittersweet smile teases at Derek's mouth and he looks down at his hands, brushing at the sawdust collecting in the creases - every member of his family knew how to answer this one, just in case their mates ever needed it.

"You're young," he says, raising his head, hands loose at his sides as he stands straight. "You've met the girl of your dreams and she loves you back. Emer knows and has changed to fit who you've become since then." He blinks, mouth quirking. "That's all anyone needs to know." He turns back to his task, giving the boy a semblance of privacy.

"I still love you, I love you anyway," Emer croons, whisper-sweet and with a threat of violence. "Nothing can hurt us," she assures and Derek's gut twists at how familiar it sounds.

\--

"You never answered my question," Stiles says. He's been quiet all afternoon, bundled up in a coat and curled in a corner, watching Derek work at rebuilding his house. "You don't have a daemon."

"That's not a question," Derek grunts, pulling at scorched floorboards until they come free with a shriek. His wolf prowls angry at the back of his mind, protective of Derek's tender underbelly and all the demons this project is bringing forward. Stiles' questions aren't helping.

"Fine, _why_ don't you have a daemon?" Stiles huffs and there's a brief buzzing-hum as Noemi stirs her wings, flashing red-orange in the hollow of Stiles' throat. She floats gently up to perch on top of Stiles' head, wings blurring lazily as she finds the steadiest perch. Stiles reaches to run a finger down her back and sighs. "I mean, Scott's got Emer, Isaac's got Treasa, Erica's got Saorise, and Boyd Philomena. Why isn't there something four-footed and prickly glued to your side?" There's a pause that turns weighted before Stiles asks again, "did Kate do something?"

"It's not polite to ask about someone's daemon," Derek deflects, turning back to rip up another floorboard.

"Derek." The tone is sharp. Derek rolls his eyes and sits back on his haunches to look at Stiles.

He sees youth and innocence, determination, loyalty, and an odd sort of bravery. But he also sees the cracks in the facade - the faint lines around Stiles' eyes, the shadows under them, the too-old knowledge of the world and its burdens. He sees an old soul and a pale mirror of himself, and a sudden, sharp curiosity lodges in his chest.

"Why is Noemi so small?" he counters, voice soft, but the boy and his daemon both jump at the question, Noemi spinning dizzy circles around Stiles' head. "A daemon is supposed to protect, to comfort. How can she do that if she's so small?"

Stiles cups his hands around Noemi, old hurt burning low in his eyes as he pulls himself to his feet.

"Touché, Derek. Touché," he mutters, rough and quiet as he leaves without another word.

\--

"Saorise didn't change," Erica says out of the blue one afternoon and Derek misses his target and slams the hammer he's wielding down on his thumb.

" _Dammit_ ," he swears, dropping the hammer and sucking on the injured digit, whirling to loom over his betas. Isaac curls low over Treasa, her bright eyes gleaming under his arm, but Erica doesn't flinch. She meets his eyes until Isaac breaks the stand off by contributing to the conversation.

"Neither did Treasa," he offers tentatively, and Derek growls before stalking across the room. An early spring chill hangs in the air, but his jacket's hanging safely in another room and the cool air feels good against his skin.

"Derek, _why_ did Scott's daemon change and ours didn't?" Erica asks. "We've been bitten, too, we're not the same people we were. Hell," she throws out a hand, almost unbalancing Saorise perched on her shoulder, " _Jackson's_ daemon hasn't changed and he's gone off the deep-end." She raises an eyebrow and props her hands on her hips. "Why."

Derek growls again, harsh in the half-finished room, lip curling over his canines until Erica drops her eyes, adjusts her stance. Only when he's sure of her submission does he cut off the sound.

"That's because _you_ changed to match your daemons. You're stronger, braver, more confident, something that was always there but hidden deep, and your daemons already reflected that. There was no need for them to change."

"But--"

"Scott and Emer were both comfortably settled in who they were. The bite added to, instead of enhancing, and they've both changed to match." He turns on his heel and retrieves his hammer, striking the nail he'd been working on before with finality. "Now, get off the floor and give me a hand."

\--

"It wasn't Kate," Derek says, apropos of nothing as he glances up from the drywall he's cutting. The whine of the table saw blocks out all sound for a moment before receding to leave just the ambient sounds of the generator and forest behind. When he looks up again, Stiles is studying his face, the pencil he's using to mark measurements motionless in his hand.

"Kate's not why you have no daemon," Stiles sounds out and Derek nods, setting the sheetrock aside and reaching for the piece Stiles is working on. He pauses long enough for Noemi to flit out of his way and carries the board back to the saw. "Huh."

Derek lets it go, lines up the drywall on the table and moves to flip the switch for the saw. As the blade shrieks into motion, Noemi moves to land on the drywall, inches from the hand Derek's using to steady the board, but well away from the blade. She rides the board until the cut is complete, then buzzes up to hover in front of his face, close enough that Derek can see the black beads of her eyes. She hangs there for a second, then darts back over to Stiles, lighting on the shell of his ear and flicking her tail to make him chuckle. He brushes her away and reaches for the tape measure again.

"So, if hunters aren't why you don't have a daemon, then..."

Derek watches Noemi float around, poking at the early daffodils, and lets the question ride.

\--

"The cages are so no one is hurt tonight," Derek tells them. "That's the way my family always handled bitten wolves and that's the way we are."

"Oh, come on," they all chorus, as whiny and indignant as children.

"Do you want to stretch the bond too far, hurt Treasa just because you can't control your wolf?" he asks, right up in Isaac's face. "Do you want to forget, even for a second, that Saorise isn't just another lesser predator?" to Erica. "It's your first moon. We'll train before the next one, all of us, until _everyone_ ," he lets his eyes linger on the daemons in the room, Emer and Saorise and Treasa, Alcaeus and Noemi and Philomena, "is safe. And you two." He points at Stiles and Allison. "You're going home."

"What about Jackson?" Stiles asks. "Much as I hate the guy, Aveza doesn't deserve to be gutted just because the Kanima doesn't recognize her."

"That's different. Besides, this isn't his first moon, and she was fine before."

"And Lydia?" Allison asks, voice cool and quiet.

"Same as Jackson. She and Perdita will be fine. Now, in," he tells them, flourishing a hand at the cells, which gets him a snort from Stiles. "Stiles, take Allison home. Last thing I need is the hunters on my scent because she got hurt." Derek hates facing Chris Argent, for more than just his bitch sister. Laurette, with her _name_ and her red coat and sleek build, will never not be heartrending to him.

Something in his expression makes Stiles stop and stare, Noemi shimmering bright between his collarbones. Then he smiles, a soft, sad tick of an expression, and reaches for Allison's arm. "Come on, double A's, let's get gone before the big bad wolf blows the house down." He pushes Allison toward the door, makes sure Alcaeus follows, then turns to look at Derek. "Dad always figured it was my ADD. Mom just liked her colors, said it reminded her of the fall. Noemi's small, but we make it work. And she's always a comfort to me," he says, smiling, one hand on the doorframe. "Be careful."

Derek closes his mouth on his surprise, and nods. "We will be," he answers and realizes only later that, yes, Stiles had meant the whole pack but, perhaps, Derek in particular.

\--

He dreams about her, his daemon, the nights he sleeps deeply enough to do so. What she'd be, what her personality would be like. He knows her name, but that's never been solely a part of the dreams, just a knowledge that runs deeper than bone.

_Brigh_.

She'd be fierce and loyal, so much like Laura, he thinks.

He just wishes he knew what she'd look like.

\--

He notices Emer acting strangely first.

Scott's attitude doesn't change. He hangs out on the fringes of the pack, still unwilling to choose a side, but still a part of the group. He laughs with Stiles, trains with Boyd and Erica and Isaac, moons after Allison. But Emer acts anxious, fidgets and jumps at small noises in ways she never has before. Her sharp eyes watch everything, track Noemi constantly, study Derek's movements. She stares at the trees surrounding Hale House, wings mantled and body tense, even as Scott laughs and tumbles in the yard with Stiles.

It comes to a head one day, Emer's skittishness, when a tree branch crashes to the ground deep in the forest and Emer takes a panicked snap at Noemi.

" _Control your daemon_ ," Derek roars, hands pinning Scott to the floor, the world washed red by the wolf close at his back.

"Emer," Scott gasps, slurred by his jaw pressed against the new floorboards, while Stiles chants "Derek Derek Derek" and tugs at his arm.

"Derek, let him go, she didn't hurt Noemi, we're fine," Stiles rushes out, eyes huge in his face and Noemi cupped in the hollow of his throat with his free hand. Across the room, Alcaeus is practically standing on Emer, caging her in near Allison as he watches the interplay.

"I'm sorry!" Emer sobs, voice high and breathy with panic, shivering and shuddering against the floor. "Noemi, Derek, please--"

Noemi darts across the room, zipping through his fingers and startling Stiles into a yelp, to bury herself into Emer's chest feathers.

"It's okay, it's okay, I know, I'm fine," she sighs, an almost subvocal murmur meant only for Emer and it's that, hearing Noemi speak, watching her work to calm the panicked daemon, that finally makes Derek back off.

"What _happened_?" Philomena asks, her deep melodious voice husky with repressed emotion. Derek rakes a hand through his hair and paces as he realizes he doesn't know what Boyd's feeling right now - it's like there's static separating him from his beta and it's pushing Derek closer to an unknown edge.

"I'm sorry," Emer keeps murmuring, moving in awkward hop-skips between Alcaeus' paws and across the floor to cling to Scott. Noemi hovers around the pair, turning lazy circles around Scott's head as he cradles Emer against his chest.

"I heard a tree branch fall..." Isaac offers, Treasa pressed against his neck.

"Gerard Argent," Scott croaks and every person in the room freezes, Allison's eyes widest and most lost of all of them. Alcaeus leans heavily against her knee as they stare at Scott in horrified bemusement.

"What, what about my grandfather?"

"He threatened Melissa and Conor," Emer whispers, "threatened the pack and Stiles and Allison and us, but Melissa and Conor," she moans.

Derek thinks about Melissa McCall and her little hedgehog daemon, thinks of the glimpses of her he's seen around the hospital on his rare visits. Thinks of sharp Argent eyes, passed down through generations, and the urge to kill. Thinks of fire and smoke and blood and his claws are out and buried in his thigh before he thinks to stop himself.

"Derek...?" Stiles asks, a tremble in his tone, and Derek doesn't have to look to know every beta in the room has their heads turned just so to expose their throats in submission. There's a whir of feathers and a tiny heartbeat next to his ear and he opens his eyes to see Noemi, almost close enough to touch, her wings a blur of color. Stiles' smell of spice and ozone seeps over the tang of Derek's blood and something in the scent makes his claws retract, makes his wolf back down and take a long hard look at the situation.

"I don't want anyone hurt," Derek says, staring straight at Stiles. "We need a plan before they go after anyone else, like the Sheriff or any of your parents."

Allison's crying into Alcaeus' fur over in the corner, drywall dust bright in her hair, while Scott sits near enough to touch her without actually doing so and Stiles leans against the wall, expressions drawn. Boyd and Erica are standing shoulder to shoulder, daemons on edge at their sides, faces resolute with something Derek can't currently parse. Isaac's sitting with his chin on his knees, Treasa draped over his shoulders, looking pensive and sad. Derek feels the urge to comfort him, steps over until the warmth of Isaac's spine is a solid line down the side of Derek's leg, careful not to touch Treasa. They're all young and broken-looking and it terrifies Derek how much they're relying on him to make this better.

He takes a breath and starts brainstorming aloud, his wolf prowling restlessly at the back of his mind.

\--

It's the Worm Moon and a feeling of unease weighs in the pit of Derek's stomach. They've been spending more and more time at the train depot recently, the number of hunters prowling the forest halting the progress on the house until it becomes infeasible to keep living there. They've ripped out too much ceiling and too many floorboards and had too little chance to replace them - too little of the house is safe right now, even for werewolves.

It's the Worm Moon and half the pack is out at a party, Lydia Martin's birthday celebration, fought for tooth and nail until they were given permission to attend. The rest of the pack is camped out in an old train, manacles and collars piled on the floor at their feet as they track the moon's rise in their blood.

"I won't do it," Erica says, chin up, and Saorise calls a battle-cry, wings lifted as Erica steps away from the chains.

"There are no cells here," Derek repeats, fingers curling into fists at her insolence. "You have to be restrained in some way, you've not got enough control yet. There's just as much danger now as there was last month," he lays out, deliberately not thinking of floating in a pool for two hours with Stiles holding him up, Noemi a jewel-bright flash in the shadows overhead. That hadn't been the full moon, though close enough, and it has no bearing on the situation now. "It's for your own good."

"I won't!" she shouts, backing to square her shoulders against a wall.

"Hold her," Derek commands and Isaac immediately moves to grab her shoulder and arm. Boyd hesitates and Derek barks the order again, reaching for a handful of chains as he strides over.

They're squared away with a minimum of fuss, but the unease in Derek's stomach doesn't dissipate, gets worse as the night wears on and the betas test their strength against their restraints. Isaac's the only one that manages a semblance of control, even going so far as to try to help restrain the others, Treasa clinging to his shoulders, despite Philomena and Saorise taking swipes at her whenever she gets anywhere close. Somehow, Derek's not surprised when Boyd and Erica break free and tear out of the depot, eyes glowing and claws sharp against his chest as they run.

The fact that Scott doesn't answer his phone is even less of a surprise.

Lydia, however, manages to catch him off-guard, and he's down before he even hears the pad of Perdita's feet.

\--

An eagle isn't supposed to be that tranquil, is Derek's first thought when he's awake and on his feet again. Even for the manifestation of his soul, Deaton's daemon is unnaturally still at his shoulder, eyes taking in everything and not contributing anything.

"The one person you need to trust you, doesn't," Deaton says and, God help him, Derek thinks of Stiles first, of what had passed between them in the high school pool, Noemi over their heads and Jackson prowling around them. There's a glint to his eyes that tells Derek Deaton's thinking along the same lines, though likely not for the same reasons.

"Six years and not everyone is like the Argents," the eagle says and Deaton smoothes a hand down her back, head tipped against her chest.

"Sabina's right. It's time to trust again, Derek," he says. His eyes are dark and knowing, seeing straight to the heart of Derek, and Derek can't help feeling he's in over his head. "But I promised your mother I'd help you, and you can't entirely trust Peter."

"I know," Derek replies, calm despite the wolf howling at the back of his mind. "What should I do?" he asks and Deaton's smile promises pain to anyone who would hurt the Hale Pack on his watch.

\--

He can't move, can barely feel his body from the neck down, and the panic has nowhere to go.

The Kanima's master is monologuing like a movie villain, eyes wild and a gun in his hand, and none of that matters because Derek is paralyzed, can't do anything to stop him, and Stiles is a dead weight against his chest, Noemi silent and still on the floor by Stiles' face, and Derek _can't move_.

Scott tries, tries to placate and cow, tries to draw Matt's attention away from Stiles and Derek, but it doesn't work well at all, just gets Stiles pulled off to the side like he's completely worthless. His shoulder's inches away from crushing Noemi and the terror in Stiles' eyes tells Derek how totally aware of this Stiles is.

That's what brings his claws out and gives him the momentum to drive them - however shallowly - into his thigh.

"Derek," Stiles whispers in response to the choked breath the motion drives out of Derek and Derek grits his teeth to reply.

"Kickstart the healing process, drive the venom out of my system," he explains and manages to twitch his fingers, clawing slightly deeper into his leg. Scott and Matt leave, Jackson prowling in the shadows behind them, and Derek cuts his eyes over to glance at Noemi. "You okay?"

"I can't feel her at all," Stiles says, voice hollow with a trace of primordial terror underneath. "Derek, I _can't feel her_ ," and hysteria buzzes deep in his words.

Squinting, Derek focuses on the tiny bundle of red-orange feathers next to Stiles' shoulder, ears pricked as high as he can manage, trying to catch every possible clue. And, there, the low hum of her heartbeat, the slight shift of her chest as she breathes.

"She's fine, I think, just out of it. The venom," he says and the muscles around Stiles' eyes ease.

"Thank God."

Silence falls in the office where they lay. Derek works at digging his claws into his leg, the tang of blood heavy in the air. Not all of it's his, he knows - if he were to take a deep breath, he'd taste the last gasp of at least four different people, Kanima venom bright and acidic over the scent of blood. He ignores that, though, focuses on the more distant sounds of Matt and Scott and Jackson.

"Any luck?" Stiles asks, voice steadier now that he knows Noemi's okay.

"I think it's working. I can feel my toes."

"Derek, _I_ can feel my toes." There's an eyebrow raise and finger quotes and an eyeroll all audible in Stiles' voice and Derek has the irreverent urge to smirk at hearing them. "Keep going."

"I'm not a dog," he says, twisting his fingers the little he can manage, trying to distract himself from the pain. "You can't order me around, I'm the Alpha."

"'I'm the Alpha,'" Stiles mutters sarcastically. "Y'know, I'm not sure that means what you think it means."

"And what does _that_ mean, Inigo Montoya?" Derek does not need to take this, not from Stiles of all people. But the tiny pile of red feathers catches at the corner of his vision again and he decides he'll let Stiles have this.

"Just because you are the big bad wolf doesn't mean everyone in the world's either Red or the Hunter. Not everyone's out to get you."

It's kind of out there, compared to what they had been saying, but not hard to figure out where Stiles is coming from. Or, where this is going. "You saying I shouldn't be paranoid?"

"Hell no," is the immediate answer. "It's not paranoia if they're out to get you."

"But you just said--"

"I said 'not _everyone_ ' is out to get you." Stiles turns his head a little bit, proving that the return of feeling Derek's noticed creeping faster and faster through his body isn't just in his head. "Some of us really just want to help. It's why the house is half-finished." Stiles blinks and somehow it carries as much weight as Derek's father's hands on his shoulders used to. "We do care about you."

Scott comes back then, just as the worst of the outright numbness leaves Derek's limbs, saving him from having to respond. Stiles is hoisted to his feet, arm dangling limp and heavy, knees loose as he leans against Scott. Noemi hasn't moved yet, though, and they're running out of time.

"Here," Derek says, rolling to his knees. He cups careful hands around Noemi's tiny body and lifts her into the vulnerable hollow of Stiles' throat, deliberately not thinking about how blatantly he just broke taboo. Scott's eyes are wide in his pale face as he blinks at Derek, but Stiles doesn't look too surprised, just licks his lips and glances at Derek's hands as Derek pushes to his feet.

"Derek," Stiles starts, at the same time Derek says, "Get him out of here," and half-pushes the two toward the door. He takes off the opposite direction, toward the sound of gunshots and lizard screams, flexing his hands to shake off the tingling warmth in his fingers, something unlike the return of sensation he experienced after the pool.

He doesn't think about how it correlates to the silky warmth of Noemi's feathers or the inviting darkness of Stiles' eyes.

\--

"Derek."

He glances up, squinting through the darkness until he can find the source of the voice.

"Noemi?" He's out of the tree and on his feet in seconds, knees braced and pulse racing as he searches the forest around him, looking for Stiles. He doesn't see him, though, doesn't smell him; there weren't any footsteps to allow for early warning. The only conclusion Derek can come to is that Stiles _isn't_ there and, in which case, "How are you here?"

Noemi whirls around his head and Derek detects a distinct sense of amusement emanating from her. "Oh, we've been practicing this for years. You should ask Scott about our first attempts." If a hummingbird could smile, Derek thinks she would be.

"So, Stiles is--"

"Asleep. At home." She buzzes closer then darts away again. "You're not that far away from the house. Well within our range." And Derek can't help but stare at her in bemusement, turning to keep his eyes on her as she spins dizzy circles around his body.

"Is he all right?" If he had any less control, Derek'd be slapping his hands over his mouth right now. Then again, if he actually had control, he wouldn't have blurted it out in the first place.

Noemi floats over to perch on a low-hanging tree branch, feathers a dusty gray in the moonlight. Her voice carries something like a shrug in it as she says, "He's... He will be okay. He's hurting, though. For more than one reason."

It's been several days since the lacrosse championship, several days since Derek's seen anyone except Isaac or Peter, but he can't make himself stay away from the Stilinski house. Not that he's ever close enough to be seen, but he's always close enough to save the day, if necessary.

God, he hopes it's never necessary.

"Derek," Noemi says. He blinks and she's right there, long beak barely a breath away from his skin, eye to eye with him. She doesn't back down, damn-near challenges his authority as alpha, but instead of rising to the challenge and asserting itself, his wolf seems to...accept. Not back down or return the challenge, but simply back off. Noemi stares him down and he _recognizes her as an equal_.

"What..." he murmurs, and she just hums complacently.

\--

"Kate Argent is not why you don't have a daemon," Stiles says one day, out of the blue.

Summer is hot around them, the forest a bright, mossy green in the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Stiles is sprawled out on the front porch, a novel propped open on his chest while Noemi dozes on his forehead. Derek turns back to the paintbrush in his hand to cover his amusement at Stiles' position, carefully smoothing the paint over the wood of the doorframe.

"Noemi is a hummingbird partially because of your ADHD, partially because your mother loved her colors, and completely because she's yours," Derek responds, and he doesn't have to look to see Stiles' smile.

(end)


End file.
